Head Colds and Light Bulbs
by angel-death-dealer
Summary: She hated this, more than she hated anything else that he did...Grace and Jane discuss her weekend with Rigsby, but she's easily irritated when he starts using his mind tricks. Rigspelt


**Head Colds and Light Bulbs**

"I can't believe you made him do that," Jane groaned sympathetically. "Talk about torture."

Grace shrugged innocently. "It was his own fault," she commented, taking the milk out of the fridge and dripping a small dash of it into the coffee mug, just enough to give the drink a bit of colour.

When she turned around, Jane was looking at her strangely, his cup of tea suspended above the saucer. "How could you treating him like that _possibly_ be Rigsby's fault?" he asked her.

"He asked me if I was playing on the illness and making it seem worse than it really was just because things have been a bit stressed recently," she explained.

"Still," Jane reasoned, as she joined him at one of the small tables in the kitchen area. It was still early, so they were the only one's there, apart from Lisbon who was holed up in her office beside a mountain of paperwork. "You didn't have to make him do that."

"Didn't I?"

"Well, telling him that he can decide whether or not you're faking after he's taken care of you for a day isn't really fair."

"Why not?" Grace asked.

"Because it's _Rigsby_. He'd have done it if you'd just asked him nicely and looked at him with those eyes that he loves oh-so-much, rather than making it an unavoidable situation for him," Jane pointed out.

Of course, he was right, but Grace was still sure that Rigsby had bought the punishment on himself. "Women use it all the time, Jane. Either men learn the hard way, or they admit that they're too much of a chicken to take care of a woman for a day."

He frowned. "No woman ever did that to _me_," he realised, as if struggling to decide whether this was a good thing or a bad thing.

Grace smiled at him. "You don't strike me as the type of guy that would shy away from a woman who needs taking care of," she guessed.

He returned her smile. "That would be correct, it's sort of a compulsion, really. But you're changing the subject - which is clever, but won't work with me – what did Rigsby do when he was taking care of you?"

A different sort of smile crossed her lips, and he saw it even though she tried to hide it quickly. "He did just that, he took care of me."

"How so?"

"He came over straight away, made me a cup of tea, saying that coffee wouldn't help me feel any better-"

"Clever man," Jane interrupted, sipping his own tea and indication for her to continue.

"-Then he made breakfast and sat with me on the couch so I wasn't wallowing in self-pity, we just sat around watching re-runs all day."

"A favoured past-time of yours," he guessed correctly.

She nodded again. "He made me lunch, which turned out to be not so bad, and when I got tired he took me up to my bed-"

"_Carried_ you," he corrected, even though he'd not been there.

"Yes," she admitted. "He stayed next to me when I fell asleep and he was still there when I woke up so I guess he stayed the whole time."

Jane took a moment to process this information, even though he'd read it off her body the second she turned up in the kitchen with the remains of a scratchy throat and a small spring in her step. "You'll get married," he said softly.

Grace almost choked on her coffee. "What?"

"I said-"

"Yes, I heard you," she cut him off. "Jane, you _promised_ me you'd drop this whole thing about getting me and Rigsby together," she reminded him.

"Ah, yes, but I only agreed to that because I was certain that you were going to do that particular job yourselves," he defended. "And after your torture session this weekend, you've further convinced me of that. I foresee a _long_ future of blissful marriage and _many_ red-headed babies for you two. Four of them. Three boys, and one little daddy's girl," he said, mocking a fortune teller on the last statement.

Grace frowned at him. "We went over this last Monday. I am _not_ in love with Wayne."

"Sure," he nodded, clearly not believing her and opting not to mention the way she'd transitioned from calling him by his surname to using his first name.

"I'm _not_," she insisted firmly.

"Ok," he said, finishing the last of his tea and standing up and going back over to the pot he'd made a short while ago.

Silence, and then...

"...no matter how well he proves he can take care of a woman," Grace confessed.

Jane smiled, starting to get her exactly where he intended to. "I know," he said brightly.

"...or how well he knows me."

"Yes, there is that as well," he agreed.

"...or how easy everything is with him."

"Ok," he repeated.

"...or how weird but nice it's going to be when he helps me babysit my nephew next Sunday."

The look on Grace's face when Jane sat back down at the table was highly amusing. "Yes, that will be interesting."

She put her forehead in her hand. "Oh, _god_. I'm doomed."

Jane just laughed at this, earning another glare from Grace.

"You laugh, but _I'm_ the one who has to spend a whole weekend with Rigsby and a one-year-old. God, we're going to be changing diapers, going to the park, singing lullabyes...I might as well give up now and start planning the wedding."

At this, Jane leaned forward, excited. "Now that you mention it, I had some ideas-"

"No, that last part didn't need a comment," she told him, with a force behind it that usually only Lisbon directed at him.

"Well, when you start thinking about locations, let me know. I know some _wonderful_ places," he offered.

She looked closely at Jane, who was clearly just following her with the 'nod and smile' technique. She hated when he did this, more so than she hated anything else that he did. He had a knack for getting her started on something, and rather than talking her into it he'd sit back and allow her to ramble until she talked herself into the idea. He'd been doing it for months now, and so far had managed to get her to do so many things that she really didn't want to do.

"Why am I even saying this to you?" she asked herself, when she realised what was happening. "You're too far gone into this whole '_Wayne and Grace are meant for each other'_ thing. Nothing I say is going to change your mind on that."

He just grinned, confirming that point.

Grace huffed, standing from her seat and leaving the kitchen with coffee in hand. Jane grinned to himself, knowing that he'd once again come out of the almost-one-sided discussion with Grace with the upper hand, and that she was leaving his vicinity before she admitted everything and started to fear blackmail.

"She loves him," he said to himself.

The only problem was that she clearly wasn't going to be the one who made the first move.

The solution, however, presented itself when Rigsby himself came into the kitchen, no doubt looking for the first coffee of the day to get him started. A light bulb sparked into life in Jane's head. Perhaps he just needed to push things a little more...

"Morning, Rigsby,"

"Morning," came the gruff, tired reply.

He smiled. "Rough weekend?"

"Tiring," he corrected.

"_Women_, huh?" he sympathised.

"I don't even know where to start," Rigsby groaned. "It's easier to leave them be, _so_ much easier..."

"I _still_ can't believe that she made you do that," Jane said, with the same sympathetic tone that he'd given to Grace. "I mean, talk about torture..."

END


End file.
